Past Conversations
by Zilveren Meer
Summary: Jack is unable to sleep. Why? A myriad of reasons. But his insomnia forces him into talking to a man who reminds him a bit too much of himself. And a bit too much of someone else, actually . . . [post nonhuman arc]


Disclaimer: I don't own Radiata Stories. It belongs respectively to its creators in Square Enix and other associated publishers, etc.

Past Conversations

Solieu Village was serene after nightfall. The moon hung low in the sky, illuminating the little cottages like a child's toy set under a bright lamp. Crickets sung, reveling in the summer heat; a few cries of the nightingale joined them with their falsetto. The sweet smell of flowers and growing crops wafted through the air so desirously, it was almost palpable.

**Clink-clink.**

It's residents, too, were at peace. The humidity kept them warm as they settled into their mattresses, covers thrown askew and to the floor. They took a well deserved break from the working, and farming, and herding they were sure to have to return to when the sun rose.

**Clink-_clink._ Clink!**

Some chickens scattered about, being playfully chased by the local dog. The dog barked and chickens squawked, until they had ran the entire village through and over again. They wore themselves indignant, the dog halting to lie down, panting. The chickens fluffed their feathers, and sat with whatever pride they could muster. But the restless dog caught sight of an owl, and—

**_Clink_-clink. Clank-clink. _Clink!_**

"Could you possibly stop _that_?"

And the infernal _clinking_ did stop, if not only momentarily. The man who was causing said _clinking_, paused to gape at the speaker. His mouth dropped open, like he was trying to catch a fly with it, shut, opened, and shut again. Either the poor man needed to make up his mind, or he had invented a new kind of game.

"Are you talking to **me**?" the man asked, incredulously.

Jack Russell, his brown hair mussy, his pajamas on backwards and in a general state of disarray, fuzzy bunny slippers worn and full of dirt, gave the man a look; a look that said _'Did you just ask me if the sky is blue?'. _His eyes were threatening to fall shut at any moment, as though he hadn't had a wink of sleep in a couple of days.

"It's nearly midnight; you're in a small village far from the city; there clearly isn't anyone around; _who else do think I'm talking to?_" Jack counter inquired, in what had recently become twenty questions.

The man began to play the_ Let's Catch a Fly _game once more, before he could address Jack in a semi-coherent manner. "B-but . . . ? Since– ?

The sleep depraved teenager cut him off. "I don't know, and since I was little. Any _more_ half-brained questions?"

The man, as if overwhelmed by the burden of having to choose between his two greatest loves, sunk to the ground. He stayed there dazed, but had thankfully put the mouth movements to rest, and traded them in for a grim frown. He gazed at the traveling pig statue next to him unfocused, as if he found something beyond it fascinating. "I suppose. Why did you come to talk to me?"

The former knight made an obscene gesture at his appearance, snapping the other's attention from the pig statue to Jack. He had apparently struck a chord. "_Why do you think?_ I obviously can't sleep because there's too much noise–"

Crickets and nightingales were a beautiful orchestra? Whoever had said so deserves to be stuck in a room with them every night for a week and then be forced to repeat that statement _afterwards_. Jack wasn't even going to start in on their neighbor's dog and his habit of playing _Chase the Chickens_.

"–Ridley's sleeping in my bed– "

Not that Jack– ahem– was sleeping in it too. No, of course not. _Really_! He had the wonderful (note the dripping sarcasm) floor, which was hard wood, and a couple of blankets. It had been that way since they had arrived back from the City of White Nights and Radiata; which for some obscure reason had been totally devoid of any sign of life whatsoever.

"– the dust is trying to choke my lungs– "

He was declaring war on dust, he swore it. The dust swelled up every summer, coming from the fields; it didn't help much that they were at the bottom of two hills, causing the dust to swirl around as if in a giant dust bowl. Nevertheless, dust –and a certain sewer rat– shall feel his wrath! Even if his opposition was allergies, sickness, contaminated air, and millions of small particles that could never be destroyed. He would fight on!

"– and then there's that completely annoying _clink_, _clink_, _clinking_ sound you're making."

"So," Jack concluded, putting his hands on his hips in his agitation, "You think you could go away? Like, move_on_maybe?"

**Clink. Clink-_clank_-clink.**

The man shifted his position while sitting, as if uncomfortable. He apparently didn't want to look the former knight in the eyes ashamed, perhaps, of himself. Jack sighed; he had seen this in the past, so many times. He was tempted to take a seat as well, but really didn't want to commit. If he got to comfortable, then he just might–

"Look," Jack inquired resignedly, "Why don't you tell me what's _wrong_? There must be something– no one sits in a village in the middle of nowhere who doesn't live there without being depressed about _something_."

His request was meet with silence; the brunette's companion said nothing, did nothing, indicated nothing. Jack moved his hands from his hips to favor crossing his arms. He raised a brow and frowned deeply.

"You know," he prompted, trying one more time, "My captain once told me this – "_Humans aren't meant to live alone. That's why we all need to share; our feelings, our problems, our humanity." _– it's good advice. Captain was always full of good things to say."

The young man of Solieu couldn't keep the melancholy out of his voice. He didn't know how he jumped from trying to get some sleep to fixing other's issues. But that was alright; he had a feeling this was one he and he alone could fix. And it may have been worth it, because the man hesitated and then began to talk.

_**Clink-clink-clink.**_

"I was wrong," the man said, "that is, I _did_ something wrong. Something irrevocable that I can never take back. I hurt the people I knew and loved; and I didn't think I'd ever get a chance to them how much I regret it–"

He swallowed thickly, apparently pushing back tears.

"–not a chance to tell them that I've regretted my choice because I didn't think I'd ever see them again. The least I could've said was goodbye, but I couldn't even do that."

It sounded vaguely like when Jack had betrayed the human race. He wondered if he had made a mistake; he had hurt all the people he knew and loved; never again would he be able to tell them he loved them; he no chance to say goodbye, no "it was nice knowing you!", no gratitude for all they'd done; he had risked everything on a single moment, a single love; he should have regretted it, but–

But–

– and he felt something tugging at corner of his lips, and he wouldn't realize it until he thought back on this moment much later and he was actually _thinking_, but the words that stumbled from his mouth; he had said them once before, or a facsimile at least, when he was focused on _fathers_ and _vengeance_ and _blood_–

"_**You're an idiot, aren't you?"**_

The poor man didn't even have a chance to be startled.

"You did something wrong, and you can't change it, _so what?_ Are you going to cry about it until you have no tears left? Are you going to regret it until you have no pride left? You said it yourself; _you can never take it back_. If you can't do anything, then why linger? Why continue to cry and regret? I know no matter how rash my actions are, I'll never regret them, because why should I think _What If_– when what if will never happen?"

Jack paused, and the man – who was previously in a shock– made a move to protest, but he didn't get a chance.

"You hurt the people you loved, you said, but if they truly love you – then they forgive you. If you regret your action, I'm sure if they knew, they would give a good hit or two to the head. And as for – as for– "

And if Jack's vision was blurring, he blamed it _entirely_ on the dust getting to his eyes.

**_Clink-clink. _Clank.**

"As for _saying goodbye_– there's no such thing as saying goodbye. If you were unable to say it, then great. You'll meet your loved ones again, you always do – it's some kind of complicated destiny thingy that I couldn't explain to you if I tried. _I'll see you_ is better. People have ways of seeing each other – _don't you agree_?"

The man seemed to contemplate his words; he examined them and re-examined, tested and re-tested, until every last word's meaning was dissected and laid out open. Then, conclusively, he stood, and for the first time since he had been in the village, the man smiled at Jack.

"Yes. _You're right._ You're right, of course– I was foolish and then I acted foolish some more. Thank you. I feel much better now that I've talked with you. I no longer think myself wrong, and I no longer regret– which means, I should probably get going. Thank you so very much."

**Clink-clink**

The man began to walk away, out of the village and over the hill, that would cause him to disappear from Jack's sight, but before he could, the man halted abruptly, and gave Jack one last farewell.

"I guess . . . I'll be seeing you. Hopefully– not any time _soon_."

– To which Jack replied with a smile, one he hadn't given to anyone since Ridley, when he realized she _was_ going to be alright in her conscious battle with Quasar. A smile he hadn't used daily, except when he was back in the Rose Cochon and before that. And if his smile was kind of watery, well, he blamed _that_ entirely on the dust, too.

He mock saluted.

"Yeah. I'll be seeing you, Captain."

And as the clinking of his captain's armor faded away slowly, as did his ghostly form, Jack decided that it was best to return home, before he died from lack of sleep, before Ridley noticed he was gone and started to worry, before he questioned his fate about seeing ghosts and why he did–

– or, heaven forbid, he managed to get more of this damned dust in his eyes.

**Fin.**

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AN: Just a little vignette that came to me when I realized that Jack was the only one who saw Ghosts, and thought about it a little. Maybe I should have Cross haunt him, too – hehe. In any case, hope you enjoyed. All forms of review appreciated.


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